


Thank the GE's

by deanniker



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, How Do I Tag, Human Castiel, I will make a new tag and it will be called Coming In Classrooms, M/M, also, and not so mild handjobs, mild exhibitionism, seriously though that happens, this is self indulgent nonsense, this started kind of cracky and ended sweet, why does that always happen?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-10
Updated: 2014-11-10
Packaged: 2018-02-24 20:14:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,403
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2595041
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deanniker/pseuds/deanniker
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean hates GE's. They are the bane of all existence. They are the true manifestations of hell. Forcing every student to take the same shitty classes in college that do absolutely nothing for people's future careers is the ultimate torture device. Guantanamo has nothing on this shit.</p><p>"For fucks sake, Dean," Jo says, stealing one of his fries. "Stop bitching. They're not that bad."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Thank the GE's

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MoodyAquarius](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MoodyAquarius/gifts).



> You know that thing that I said I was gonna write? Well I wrote it. Here it is.
> 
> You have ruined me. In a good way. :P

Dean hates GE's. They are the bane of all existence. They are the true manifestations of hell. Forcing every student to take the same shitty classes in college that do absolutely nothing for people's future careers is the ultimate torture device. Guantanamo has nothing on this shit.

"For fucks sake, Dean," Jo says, stealing one of his fries. "Stop bitching. They're not that bad."

Dean glares at her and slaps her hand away when she goes in to make off with another one of his hard-earned, deliciously unhealthy slices of comfort food. He needs the memory of them - all of them - to get him through his next class. "Seriously, Jo. You have no idea. This class sucks ass."

"You sound pathetic, you know that right?" Jo asks. " _Jo, you can't understand me and my angst boohoo."_

"Hey, fuck you," Dean snaps.

"Not even if you paid me," Jo snaps back, smiling sweetly. Dean makes a face at her. She steals another one of his fries and he gives them up for lost. He slumps back in his seat and tries to get up the energy to make his way to the class of hell. He can already feel his brain cells dying.

Jo polishes his fries off in short order. "Suck it up, Dean. It's only one semester. Make some friends." She slaps him on the back and waltzes off, leaving him to throw away her trash. Dean sighs and crumples the napkins up, wishing he could do the same thing to the heavy textbook in his backpack. Or his professor's face. 

He makes it to class on time, unfortunately. He slides his way to the worst-lit corner of the room, so that Professor Adler won't notice if Dean falls asleep from pure boredom. 

Someone sits in the seat next to him and Dean doesn't even look up. He grunts at them and they grunt back, and then Adler plods into the room and tells them to take out their syllabus, lets go over the syllabus, so that they know what's coming up. The same thing he's said  _every fucking class_. Dean would have it memorized by now if it weren't so boring.

He takes out a pen and spends half of class doodling on the remaining blank space in his syllabus. He spends the second half of class fantasizing about getting up and screaming, maybe ripping his clothes off and running through campus in a new age protest. 

The guy next to him is doodling too. Dean sneaks a peak and  _holy shit._ It's awesome. It's a huge-ass dragon spitting fire at someone that looks strangely similar to their paunchy professor. 

Dean looks down at what he's drawn. 

It's a bunch of stick figures. He wasn't thinking about much, but it looks like Professor Adler is being stabbed in the face. He feels a sudden rush of solidarity towards his neighbor. 

 

*

 

During the next class, Dean doodles idly for a while. This time his efforts result in a building burning to the ground. It has the same basic shape as the one he's in right now. Surprise, surprise. Then he discovers that since he's sitting against the wall, there's a socket right next to his knee. For the remaining thirty minutes, Dean weighs the pros and cons of shoving his pen in to electrocute himself.

The guy next to him draws butterflies. What a complete 360. When Dean squints, though, he can make out a name at the top of the page.  _Castiel_. Weird name.

 

*

 

Next time, instead of doodling, Dean watches. Castiel - if that's his real name, artist types are weird - is ridiculously good. His fingers are long and sure and just so fucking graceful that Dean finds himself zoning out, laying his head on the desk and watching. It's a better zone-out than the one caused by Adler's face. Actually, from this angle, it's way better, because he can see Castiel's face from here. It's a nice face. Soft pink lips, cute little frown as he shades or whatever the fuck he's doing. And those eyes, holy shit. Blue as fuck, standing out of his white face as he stares straight into Dean like's he's trying to see his soul...

Ah. Dean's been staring into this dude's eyes like a freak for at least a minute. Probably longer, judging by the frown that's deepened the crease between those freakishly blue eyes. Dean snaps back into a sitting position, practically knocking over his chair with how fast he moves. The guy turns to watch him, and Dean glares until he goes back to his art. 

 

*

 

Jo, when she finds out, howls like a banshee. 

"It's not funny," Dean growls. 

"Oh yes it is," Jo says, wiping her eyes. "Let's go over this, one more time. You like this guy. Who you've never spoken to. And you might not even know his name. And you're scared that you've freaked him out with gay because you stared into his eyes, which I quote 'are like looking into the ocean.'" For a second, she looks like she's calming down, but then she makes eye contact and off she goes. 

"It's not funny," Dean says again. 

Jo sobers up a little. "It's probably not as bad as you think. He didn't scream and point shouting about the gay menace, right?" Dean shakes his head. But he hadn't said or done anything, and that's almost worse. "Why don't you try talking to him?"

Dean snorts. He hates talking to people.

Jo smacks him on the head. "You're like a brick wall of emotional repression, Jesus." She scampers off when Dean makes a half-hearted attempt to retaliate, leaving him, once again, to throw away her trash.

After he's done cleaning up after his awful excuse for a best friend, he slinks his way to his class and his seat. When Castiel sits down next to him, he tries not to think to much of it. It's one of the better seats in the classroom, after all.

To be on the safe side, he does  _not_ watch him draw. He spends the first half hour thinking about whether it's actually possible to die of boredom, until he looks at his pen. Maybe, if he makes himself throw up, he can leave. So he picks it up, pushes it into his mouth, and sees how far he can go before he stimulates his gag reflex. He doesn't actually want to throw up, he just likes thinking about spewing all over this classroom. It would probably improve it, to be honest. 

He flirts with his gag reflex for a while, and it takes up enough of his attention that he doesn't notice that the arm next to his has stopped moving until he flicks his eyes to the side. 

Those brilliant blue eyes are fixed to his lips. And they aren't as bright anymore, dilated in a way that shouldn't be possible in this awful overhead lighting. Dean's eyebrows raise to his hair line, and then he smirks. 

He hates it when Jo is right, but this time he's glad she was. 

Dean has never shied away from raising the stakes, as long as it doesn't require, you know, talking. So he swirls his tongue around the pen and sucks. 

The pencil Castiel is holding snaps. Dean chuckles, and that's enough to snap him out of it. Castiel blinks a little and suddenly realizes what he's been doing. He flails almost as badly as Dean did the other day and looks away. When class is over he bolts and is out the door before Dean can grab him. "Wait!" Dean calls, but by the time Dean shoulders his way out of the building Castiel is nowhere to be seen. 

"Damn it," Dean mutters. Just his luck. He finds someone he really wants to bang and they're a twitchy, bicurious mess. He's definitely scared him off now. 

But the next class, those pink lips and that dark hair - that Dean has definitely not been thinking about, because he's got a roommate and the showers aren't exactly private - slides into the seat next to him. Dean ignores him. He doesn't want to start anything if Castiel is just going to pretend he doesn't want it. 

Adler starts droning, and Dean wonders what he's going to do this time. Maybe if he smacks his head enough times on the desk he'll actually manage to knock himself out. 

He's trying to figure out the right combination of smack to kill brain cells versus quiet enough so that Adler doesn't notice when he feels a hand on his hip. Dean freezes. 

The hand doesn't. It slides up under his shirt and starts dragging over his hipbone. 

Dean sits up, because no way is he getting felt up in class with his head on the desk. He risks a look at Castiel, and he's just staring at the wall like he's bored. Like he isn't moving his hand down to where Dean is hard. 

Kinky motherfucker.

Not that Dean is much better. He spreads his legs and lets that hand go to town. And go to town it does, squeezing and rubbing until Dean is convinced he's going to come in his jeans. That is not what he wants, so when Castiel pops open the button and slides his hand in to squeeze roughly Dean sighs in relief louder than he meant to. Castiel chuckles softly, that bastard, but before Dean can so much as glare, the hand on his dick starts moving. It's a little too dry, a little too fast, but fuck if Dean cares. His hands are turning white from where he's gripping the table, and mostly he just concentrates on keeping his breath even and quiet. 

Castiel starts playing with the head, and that's it, game over. He tries to come silently, and he does, but his legs jerk and one of them slams up into the table. It's enough to startle Adler from his droning, and he looks straight at them. "What's going on back there?"

Dean swallows and hopes his voice isn't going to come out all fucked to hell. "Um, my foot slipped." Castiel's hand is still down his pants, and he chooses this moment to start stroking his now soft dick. Dean bites his lip to stop a whimper, and when he stammers out, "Sorry," his voice is a lot higher than normal. Adler stares at him and Castiel fucks with him and Dean starts to worry that this is how he'll die, because all of the blood is rushing to his head and pounding in his ears and that can't possibly be healthy.

Finally, Adler looks away. Castiel takes his hand out of Dean's pants and when Dean looks at him he's got a little smirk on his face. 

Dean's not going to be outdone. No sir. He has to scootch his chair over so that he can reach Castiel with his right hand. No way is he giving a shitty left-handed handjob to this guy. He doesn't bother fucking around either, no cupping him through his jeans. He just unzips Castiel's pants and pulls him out. 

He's more exposed than Dean was, and judging from the way his eyes widen and his breath hitches, he likes it. Dean starts stroking him slowly. And then, since Dean is twisted in his seat and so close anyway, he brings his mouth a little closer. 

"You are one kinky son of a bitch, Castiel," he whispers. "Your name's Castiel, right?"

Castiel nods once, jerkily.

Dean tsks. "I bet you don't even know my name. You just know you want to fuck me. Is that how it is?"

Castiel doesn't say anything, but he hisses his next breath in through his teeth and grips the edge of the table.

"It's okay. I'm kinky too. I let some random guy who doesn't even know my name jerk me off in the middle of a classroom. And I wanted it, bad. If he'd stopped before I came? I would have done anything for it."

By now, Castiel is a wreck. His face is flushed and he's biting his lip. It's a pretty transparent sex face. Dean speeds up his hand, because he's a little worried that if he keeps teasing Castiel will actually start moaning. 

"You know what I would have done? I would have pretended to drop my pencil. And then I would have bent over and sucked you off. For as long as it took. You'd like that, wouldn't you Cas?"

"Oh," Castiel whispers. One of his hands slips off the table and grips Dean's left wrist. It's like a vice, and when he comes, he somehow tightens his grip even more. He turns his eyes to Dean, and it doesn't feel like they're two guys who just gave each other shitty handjobs in the back of a classroom. 

Dean really hopes he's not alone in this, in this feeling that they shouldn't just part ways. It seems like he isn't, because Castiel stays in his seat long after everyone leaves, until it's just them. 

"Dean," Dean offers, when it becomes clear that Castiel is struggling to find something to say.

"What?"

"My name." 

"Oh. Dean." Castiel repeats it, like he's figuring out whether he likes the way it fits in his mouth. He smiles softly. "I like it."

"Well, I'm glad," Dean grins.

"Can I have your number?" Castiel blurts. 

"Sure." Dean says. Once they've programmed their numbers into each other's phones, Dean laughs. 

"What's so funny?"

"Just, I'm really screwed now. My roommate already hates me, and now I'm going to pop boners all over the place and bring you in and..."

"I have a single," Castiel says quickly. "I mean -"

"How'd you swing that?" Dean asks. 

Castiel frowns at him. "I'm an RA."

"Oh," Dean says. "So, what? A junior then?"

"Sophomore. Wait, what are you?"

"Freshman."

"Oh god, you're not one of mine, are you?" Castiel asks, horrified. 

"Pretty sure I'd remember if you were," Dean teases. 

Castiel blushes. For someone who had no qualms about shoving his hands down another dude's pants in the middle of class, he's easy to fluster. "Let's get out of here," he says, grabbing Dean's hand. 

"Where?" Dean asks.

"Anywhere," Castiel says. "I'd like to kiss you, but not in this godawful classroom."

Dean laughs. He can get behind that. 

 

**Author's Note:**

> GROSS SOBBING WHY IS MY LIFE


End file.
